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Umm-mmmm! That’s one big burger.

I hate McDonalds. The only thing I order from them is the chicken. I love that chicken from — McDonalds?

I won’t lie. I’ll probably be trying the burger out when it hits the street, from vomiting, no less. I figure the more fat and calories a burger has, the better it is. And this one has 667 more calories than their biggest burger. So, that should be one tasty burger.

By the way, what is McDonalds biggest burger? Is it the Big Mac? Maybe the Big N Tasty? Or perhaps the Whopper? Oh, wait, that’s the other restaurant chain.

By the way, I could sure go for a Whopper right now, especially one with cheese on it. I think I might just get one of those babies for lunch. That should tied me over until the World Cup Heart Attack comes on sale.

Yippee!

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Every weblog I come across has this shit on the side listing what they perceive is the greatest shit they’ve contributed to mankind, 10 of the greatest posts they’ve ever written. Since I’m not above rubbing myself raw, and since I’ve been doing this shit for over two years, I’ve decided to copy cat like a mothafucka and jump on the jerk-off bandwagon. So, before you, I list what I believe are 10 of the greatest posts I’ve ever written. In fact, these might be 10 of the greatest posts ever written to a weblog. So, get ready to be dumbfounded and amazed by some of the greatest shit written in the 21st Century. This is the 21st Century, isn’t it? I get that shit mixed up.

In no particular order:

Cujo

The first post that got me major shine from other weblogs. I saw some of the biggest hits to my site ever. Of course, to put this shit in perspective, I was only getting like five or six muthafuckas visiting this shit, and they were all from Google searches.

Juicin For the Future

I didn’t think I should put this one up because it’s so recent. But I conclude, in a year, this one will become a classic.

Haterade 2005 (No Homo?)

I wrote this shit in the midst of Bol’s crusade against Kanye West. I had written about the subject of man rape before. But I thought I needed to speak on the subject further considering the circumstances.

Wansta Tales

Remember Gangsta Stories, or whatever that weblog was called, that had entries supposedly written by a former gangbanger. Well, since I lived in a similar environment, I decided to give my take on the subject.

The Joker

Who’s the real sicko?

Micheal And My Butt Cheeks

I answer the question of what it’s really like to be a part of the Jackson Clan

My Neck, My Back

The downfall of an Angel

Half-Puerto-Rican and Asian

The first of my posts on my fucked up relationship with women

Doctor Doom

You think I would leave this one off. I don’t think so.

The Farce, Part 1

This post is pretty much my mission statement, why I do this shit. Why I make no sense. Why you will never know me, even when you think you do. This story is all true and all lies, all at the same time.

P.S. I’d like to give a special shout out to Relski, who sparked my interest in this blogging shit. Without him, and his shitty ass link advertisements, I might have come at this shit a little too late. And my man Kool Keith who helped me push this shit forward, who gave me that early encouragement to keep going forward. Trust me people, without them, I might not be doing this shit. Much love.

I wish I had chose April 2nd. I think I chose either the 14th or the 17th. I think it was sometime later in April. Now I feel bad. Because the Pope is dead. Could’ve pushed shit another week or two. Then we’d both be happy.

Either way. Good night, old man. If you got a God, it must feel good as shit to be in heaven. Most of us will never know that shit.

I’m dead.

Act like I’m dead. And you’re just conversing with a dead man.

Two days earlier, four men stormed into my apartment. I jumped out of bed and headed up front. That’s when I was hit with a bullet to my chest. I fell. One man stood over me. He aimed the barrel of his gun toward my head. And he pulled the trigger. There, I laid dead for three days, my head splattered about the rug. The janitor came to my apartment to fix my leaky sink. He opened the door and discovered my dead body. A week later, my mother buried me. And three days, I rose from the grave, resurrected. Now, I return home to write the last of my entries to this blog.

The Massacre

Crap.

I’m tired like that.

I ain’t got shit to say.

So, I won’t waste any of your time.

Just Some Links I Stole:

Openware
Snarf-It
Sometimes this crap is up. Sometimes it ain’t.
Firefox Search Plug-Ins
6 months of free hosting
Rock Group Cover Fonts

I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. I – I am lost. Johnny Carson is dead. And I am lost, lost in this deep earthly abyss. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t posted to this site. I have remained silent for two or three days to show my respects and honor the great late night king of television comedy. Or, would you believe my dog ate my posts, ate that shit right up. Or, this is a good one, I couldn’t reach a computer at all the last three days.

I was stranded on an island, and there were these big bootied freaks there, and they said, You leave that Internet alone. You mess with Mr. Internet and you get no booty. And I was all like I don’t need no booty, and they were all like we know you want some booty, and I was like I don’t need none of that, I have my imagination, and they were all like what yo’ imagination gon’ do when yo’ penis get hard, and I was all like that’s the better to crack coconuts with, and they were all like you gon’ fuck the coconut hole and all, and I was all like damn beyotches, that sounds like a good idea, and they were all like, Yadda – Yadda – Yadda, I’m fuckin tired. But you know where I was headed with this shit. Needless to say, I hit that island booty fo’ like three days and shit. Cause I’m the mack like that. That’s how I do this shit.

So, now I’m back to reality and civilization and stuff like that. But I’m depressed because I wasn’t able to keep my weekday blog shit going, and, yeah, that Johnny Carson shit, and I don’t know what to do with myself. That’s why I am lost. I am lost in my own depression and stuff like that. Whatever. So, I decided to do this and post here and start things again. I’d get one in before the new day. Then I’d come back with another one the next day, and I’d be back on a roll. That’s why this entry is another entry about nothing. So, my next two entries will be about something. First, I’ll throw up a shitty ass comic book review. I won’t put any thought into it. But, at least, you’ll be getting another great entry from me. Then I’d hit you with another entry about bullshit, I really haven’t thought that shit up yet. But when I do this shit, you’ll love it. Trust me.

I’m trying to keep up my streak of posting to this shit. So, this post means absolutely nothing. I might have something better tomorrow, or maybe next week. No, I’ll try to make it tomorrow. Right now I’m trying to watch Alias and listen to this new Geto Boys. I would post a link to that shit, but that would take time. And I have no time. So, I’ll just throw up some bullshit like I’m doing now in the hopes that that shit will be perceived as thought provoking. And I still have that David Koresh shit to put up. Oh, shit, it’s back on. Fuck it. I might post something quick later. But I might not. Now if the rest of this shit has a whole lotta fucked up spelling and doesn’t make any sense, it’s because I’m watching television and typing at the same time. And that shit just doesn’t work well. Fuck it. I gotta go.

I was checking out my free annual credit report, and boy was I shocked. I mean, COTDAMN! I am fucked up. My shit is completely ass. I can’t believe I fucked my credit up that bad back when I was in college. That’s what I get for putting pizza, candy bars and porn on credit. I mean, that shit was FUCKED UP!

I couldn’t even go through that shit any longer. Makes you wonder why I still keep getting credit card offers and shit. I’m ashamed of myself. I should have known better. But my dumb ass was living in the moment. I honestly thought that that shit I got for a paycheck and those student loan leftovers would help me out in the end. Now, I’m in debt up to my ass and I got no way to get out from under it. I think I need to file for bankruptcy, or, you know, win a million dollar. One of the two. For real.

I bet you get tired of me wishing for a million dollars. But I’ve been told if you ask for something often enough, you just might get it.

Please, more titties and ass, more cars, more clothes, plus an Xbox 2 when that shit comes out.

PLEEAZZZE, BABY JESUS! Help a brother out.

I’ll make a public declaration on this shit right here. If you give me a million dollars, I’ll stop cussing and saying bad things about people. And I’ll go to church every Sunday. Wait, let’s make it one Sunday in the month, every month. I gotta be real with this shit. I won’t put anything up here that I don’t see myself going through with. So, no more one night stands. No more sleeping with chicks, I mean women, that I can’t stand. No more calling women, chicks. No more deliberate lying. No more stealing, and that includes downloading crap. And, damn it, no more pornography.

That last one’s gonna be hard, like my paynas. No more crappy jokes, either. I’m gonna get right. I gotta get right. If only so I can win a million dollars. I’d help them Tsunami victims, feed the poor and shit, stop wallowing in my own filth and self-pity. I’d be a better man.

Sure, you should strive to be a better man before you get a million, but what’s the fuckin’ point in that shit. The reason poor people stay fucked up, because we need to stay fucked up for the crappy fact that we’re poor. I’m a porn addict, an alcoholic, and a drug fiend, and I’ve been that way since the day I was born. It’s part of my nature. I was born to be fucked up like I am. You better be glad I ain’t rapin and killin’. I need a fuckin award for not doing that shit. That’s why the government should be glad to hook me with the welfare.

Okay, I’m bullshittin’. At least a little. But I could still use a million. And maybe some ass. But I’ll take the million over some ass. I figure if I get a million, I can get all the ass I want.

Don’cha think.

It’s almost the end of the year. I was thinking about doing a year end review about everything. But I decided against it, because I’m lazy as fuck. Plus, I got nothing to say. The truth is I can barely remember half of last month, let alone the other half of the year. I mean, I’ve been trying really hard to think about what I was doing back in March or April, and I can’t remember a goddamn thing. But I must have been doing something because I was tired, and bitching all the time about how tired I was. I must have been on some whirlwind bullshit, because I think that’s what the fuck I was moaning about. But I can’t remember. I can’t remember shit. So, that pretty much negates a year end review. You can’t do year end if you can’t remember the first end of the year.

So, what the fuck else do I have to write about before I get the fuck away from this computer for the holidays. Note: I’m not really going anywhere, or visiting anybody special for the holidays. I’ll be stuck here, all by myself. Boo-hooo. No Christmas for me. No Christmas bonus. No ipod from the boss. No cool book from a secret Santa. No new book out to peddle. No new money. No cool fuckin’ Christmas presents. No nothing.

So, STOP FUCKIN’ TELLIN’ ME ABOUT ALL THE COOL SHIT YOU’VE ALREADY GOTTEN FOR CHRISTMAS!!!

Cause I ain’t getting shit. I don’t wanna hear it, or read it, or anything. Everybody all happy and shit. Fuck you happy bastards. I HATE YOU!!! Well, no I don’t, at least not all the way. Just a little bit. I hate you all just a little bit. Beyotches with new books, making money, contemplating their new fuckin’ lives. Yeah. I know I’m supposed to be happy for you all and shit like that. It’s not about the presents, it’s about Jesus. Yeah. Shut the fuck up, beyotch, because it is about the presents. It’s always been about the presents. Those three wise dudes didn’t come empty handed, did they? Nope, you asshole. They came with gifts, crappy gifts, but gifts nonetheless. So, don’t pull that Christ day bullshit on me. If you ain’t getting shit this year, like me, then Christmas ain’t nothing but a beyotch. BEYOTCH, I SAY!

Oh! If I could just piss on you all through these Internets and shit, I would. I’d piss on you, you fuckin’ rich ass Paris Hilton whores. You make me sick. SICK! ARGGH! You’ll rue (I think that’s the right word) the day you flaunted your new big breasted whores in front of me. I’ll make you all pay for my continued misfortunes.

So,

Merry FUCKIN’ Christmas,

Assholes,

I hate you.